


For science

by ferggirl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye blames it all on his hands. </p><p>She’d noticed, before, just how strong and sure they are. It makes sense, of course, he spends his days building and taking apart intricate machinery of all shapes and sizes. Intellectually, she understands that he must have steady hands.</p><p>She just never expected to be so distracted by them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For science

Skye blames it all on his hands. 

She’d noticed, before, just how strong and sure they are. It makes sense, of course, he spends his days building and taking apart intricate machinery of all shapes and sizes. Intellectually, she understands that he must have steady hands.

She just never expected to be so  _distracted_ by them. 

When he sits by her hospital bed (they all take shifts, she’s almost never alone) he’s always got something to work on, or show her. And when those hands reach for her water glass or brush the hair away from her face, she can’t help wondering. 

She’s always gone for the obvious guy. The hottest one. The one at the head of the pack. The one she judged most likely to be able to keep up with her. 

Maybe she’s been doing this all wrong.

How would it feel, to have all of that fierce focus on her? To have those capable hands learning her body, taking her apart and putting her back together again?

Could he find the broken pieces and make her whole?

"And once again I feel like you’re not really paying attention to me."

His voice pulls her eyes up to his mildly exasperated face. She can’t help but smile, even though she knows that’s what he wants. The moment she feels her lips curl up, his exasperation drops away into an answering grin. Her heart does a funny stutter-step that she hides behind a teasing eye roll. 

"Honestly, the  _worst_  pretend girlfriend,” he pats her arm and she can help but notice how his fingers curl just so around it, leaving warm tingles behind. 

"Have you had so many, then?" 

He blinks at her, confused enough that he forgets to move his hand. Skye doesn’t mind. Not at all. 

"Pretend girlfriends," she says. "You’re comparing me to other, better pretend girlfriends?"

"Oh," he recalls himself and pulls his hand back into his lap, to fidget with the alternate delivery system for the night-night gun pellets. She feels her fingers twitch with wanting his touch again. "Well, Jemma’s stepped in a few times. We have a great backstory for it, very convincing. Although now that I think of it, she’s rarely as supportive as a bloke might ask…"

Skye loves hearing about his and Simmons’ adventures together, usually, but today it’s not what she wants. Of course Jemma’s the best pretend girlfriend he’s ever had. They’ve known each other for so long… she shifts irritably, trying to get comfortable despite the two gaping holes in her midsection. Fitz trails off and puts his gadget down carefully on the side table. 

"Let me," he says, and then his arm slides gently beneath her shoulders, not lifting her up, but holding her steady while his other hand fluffs and arranges the pillows. His head is inches from her own. Skye spends a moment contemplating those curls, so in need of someone to muss them.

"What about real ones?"

"Hmmm?" He’s focused, of course, on his task and doesn’t really process her question. 

"There we are," he says, and she knows he’s about to let go, so she reaches up and covers the hand holding onto her shoulder with her own. His eyebrows rise in surprise, and he glances at their hands before meeting her eyes in concern. "Skye?"

She doesn’t know why it matters so much. She has so many questions that need answering: who she is, why she’s here, how to keep her team safe, how to help Mike, when she can get out of this damn bed… But right at this moment, she’d trade most of those answers for just one from Fitz. 

"Real girlfriends. How did I rank there?"

He laughs, just a little, assuming she’s joking. She’s not sure when all of these feelings crept up on her, but here she is, asking a silly question but wanting a very serious answer. She hangs onto his arm, and he is stuck there, leaning over her and reading the urgency in her eyes. 

"Skye, what’s this about?"

She releases his hand like it burns, which it does in a way. She still doesn’t fit, not on the team, not in a family, and not with Fitz. 

"Nothing, just a stupid question. Don’t be weird."

He releases her then, his arm gentle as he lets her relax back into the pillows that  _are_ better, damn him. But he doesn’t sit back down in his chair. Instead he settles gingerly onto the bed and reaches for her right hand.

"Well, I have no solid basis for comparison," he says softly, his fingers turning her hand over to trace on her palm, "just theory. But in  _theory_ , you beat Stephanie out on humor for sure, and Greta never could find the good in people like you do. Frieda had some kind of magic aura that broke any machine she touched, so I very much theoretically appreciate that you are less of a problem there.”

“ _Less_  of a problem?” she laughs. “I object.”

"You’re a bit better with a gun than any of them," he continues, pretending not to hear her, although his hand curls around hers, squeezing gently. "But then, I’m not sure that’s saying much."

"You’re stalling."

"Well, it’s not especially scientific. I can’t compare… other things. This is all theory!"

"Sure you can. Just ask nicely."

His eyes, when they meet hers, are dark and hopeful and just a bit baffled. She’s not sure what he sees on her face because she’s not sure what she’s feeling right now, aside from very aware of him, and his nearness, and his sweet words. 

"All right. Skye, I’m going to kiss you for scientific purposes now."

She nods, biting her lip in amusement. “As long as it’s for science.”

When he leans in, using one of those strong hands to frame her face and brushing a thumb along her cheekbone, she forgets why she was laughing. 

Their lips meet and one of her hands is in his hair and if this is science she needs to be doing more of it. He kisses her confidently, eagerly, and she feels his smile as he gentles and nips at her bottom lip.

"So?" She sounds breathless to her own ears, but she can blame that on the gunshot wounds for weeks yet. "Do you have a verdict?"

He’s considering her, working through something in his mind as he watches her arch expression. She can see the moment he decides, his eyes igniting.

"Well you know what they say about sample size," he murmurs, leaning back to brush his lips along her neck. "Can’t form a conclusion based on a single piece of data."

"For science, then," she sighs, totally failing to hide her pleased smile. 

"For science," he agrees. Then he finds her mouth again and she forgets to tease him anymore. 


End file.
